


Staking A Claim

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Show Me Your Teeth [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where you could literally enter and change someone else's dream, Ariadne supposed that finding out werewolves were real shouldn't have been the surprise that it was. Of course, <i>how</i> she found out likely had something to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staking A Claim

In a world where you could literally enter and change someone else's dream, Ariadne supposed that finding out werewolves were real shouldn't have been the surprise that it was. Of course, _how_ she found out likely had something to do with it.

She had been working with Arthur and one or two different extractors after the Fischer job, and for this particular one they needed a forger. Eames was the best out there, and he had been in between jobs himself. The timing had been good, and they were looking to extract the location of a silver mine from their subject. Their employer had been quite adamant that he didn't care what happened to the subject as long as the location of the mine was obtained. Really, that should have been the first clue, but most employers made similar statements so Arthur and their extractor du jour didn't think much of it.

The extraction itself was simple, but once they were done giving the report, their employer hit a button that put the room on lock down. Then he _shifted_ and started attacking. The furred shape didn't seem deterred by any shots from Arthur's Glock or Eames' USP Compact, so Ariadne didn't even bother with the Baretta she had started carrying. Their extractor went down in a mess of blood and snapped bone, screaming until he was drowning in his own blood. Ariadne found some kind of heavy decorative item on the desk and beat at the head of the furred shape, but it swatted her away. She went flying across the room, and everything swam dizzily after that.

Eames took up the object and kept up the assault on the creature's head as its muzzle was buried within the mass of intestine of what used to be their extractor. Arthur was searching for the damn button, shooting abandoned for the moment.

It was a blur, but Eames didn't even scream when the creature turned its head and bit into his thigh. He slammed the object right into the creature's face, smashing the muzzle open. Arthur was shouting something Ariadne couldn't make out with the ringing in her ears, and then he swung a chair into the remains of the creature's head. It was soon reduced to nothing but pulp, but Eames was growing pale.

Arthur managed to avoid any questions at the hospital they were forced to go to. Since there were no bullet wounds and only a suspicious bite, he claimed that they were all attacked while on their way to an early dinner, and he didn't know what breed of dog it had been. Ariadne had fallen and hit her head on a fence, and Eames had gotten the worst of the attack before the dog's owner came to drag it away. Though hospital staff was suspicious, there wasn't much else they could do about it. Eames' bite was treated and he received antibiotics as prophylactic treatment for infection. Ariadne had a mild concussion but no obvious fractures, and was allowed out of the hospital as long as her friends were willing to watch over her to be sure that her symptoms didn't worsen.

Somehow, Ariadne should have known that they had gotten off easy at the hospital.

Eames didn't seem to respond well to the antibiotic, as he had a fever over the next few days that spiked at 103 degrees Fahrenheit. He babbled, and Arthur went off in search of a street medic who could figure out what other antibiotic they could give him. Ariadne stayed to keep watch over him, pressing cool compresses over his forehead and chest to try to bring down the fever. She rearranged the sheets so they wouldn't get too soaked, and rested her hand on his chest. He growled at her, actually _growled,_ and it gave her pause for a moment. "Eames?"

"Your hand burns," he snarled, baring his teeth at her. They looked oddly sharp, and the snaggle tooth in the front was actually straight now.

Stared at him uncomprehendingly, and he snatched at her wrist to pull it away from his skin. She was wearing two rings on that hand, simple silver bands. While she didn't normally wear much jewelry, part of the look for reaching the subject had been adding tasteful jewelry to look like a professional personal assistant. She possibly could have done without them, but they had modeled her look on that of the subject's own assistant, and she wore a lot of silver rings and bracelets.

Silver.

Ariadne peeled his fingers from her wrist and pulled off the rings. She then touched his arm, and he didn't seem as agitated. "It's the silver that bothers you."

"Is that what it was?" he asked, voice rough and more like a growl. He flicked his eyes toward her, and his blue eyes suddenly seemed more blue.

 _What big eyes you have,_ she thought wildly, taking in the subtle shifts in his appearance. _What big teeth you have._

"Your heart's beating faster," Eames said, pushing himself up into a more seated position. He licked his lips, flashing those sharp teeth. "I can smell you."

"Wh-what?" she stammered, looking at him in disbelief. "What the fuck, Eames?"

"I can smell your scent," he said, leaning forward and catching her wrist in his. "The godawful perfume we all picked, and the soap, and the shampoo, and _you,"_ he said, voice dropping into a growl. "I want it. I want that scent. You're fucking driving me insane with it."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked. "You're feverish," she declared with bravado. "You're going out of your mind as your brain boils."

It didn't explain the teeth. Or the eyes. Or the way he sniffed the air around her.

Eames smiled, a baring of teeth that seemed more predatory than reassuring. "No. I see better now. I hear better now. Everything is better now, and you're not really afraid." He pulled her closer to his chest, and she could feel heat radiating off of him through her thin blouse. "You're not afraid of me, of this, of anything." He ducked his head down and kissed her, tongue curling and licking into her mouth. Ariadne made a helpless noise of pleasure; okay, maybe she'd had a couple of fantasies about him. She wasn't blind, after all. She also wasn't stupid enough to screw up a working relationship for a quick thrill, no matter how wonderful it might have been in the short run.

Shifting his grasp to her rear, Eames pulled her up onto the bed beside him. "You belong to me, don't you?" he growled, pulling up her skirt. She had thigh high silk stockings and a cotton thing beneath the pencil skirt, and Eames was wearing only his boxers. His hands roamed over her bare skin, and he tilted his head to nip at her ear. Ariadne clung to his broad shoulders, gasping. "Ariadne," he prompted, growling.

"Y-yes," she whispered, shaking as his fingertips ghosted over the cotton of the thong. She was wet already, her heart pounding in her chest.

Eames nibbled at her earlobe, nuzzling her slightly as his fingers pressed fractionally harder. "I don't like sharing. Much."

"What's happening to you, Eames?" Ariadne whispered.

"I need this," he replied, which didn't quite answer the question. That, at least, was the same. "I want you, Ariadne. I can practically taste you, and I want it."

"This isn't like you," she protested, pushing back. His fingers teased the hemline of the thong, tracing sensitive skin and sifting through crisp hair. His eyes were so very blue and sharp as they watched her lick her lips nervously.

"You know what thing was, don't you?" he said, voice rough. His teeth were so very sharp.

"I was concussed," she protested, shaking her head a little. It was enough to make her a little dizzy again, and her heart seemed to beat faster.

Eames pulled impatiently at her thong, but she didn't move to help him. It felt like she was caught in his grasp, prey frozen in fear in front a predator, frantically praying that it wasn't hungry and would leave her alone.

Not bloody likely.

"Not when it started. Not when he first changed, not when he took down that idiot before the wanker could even draw his gun." He watched her, tugging again at the thong. "I didn't think the change worked this fast, but not too many survivors exist. It burns, Ariadne. Arthur thinks it's just infection, but it's changing me. It's burning me." He grimaced, teeth sharp and pointed, canines growing slightly longer. "I'd thought only the full moon brought on changes, but maybe that's only a story."

"It's all only a story," she protested weakly.

He shook his head, eyes dark with lust. "Like dreams are," he said, pulling her forward by her thong. His fingers brushed her folds, making her gasp. She was wet, he could feel it even though he had been able to smell it before. "This isn't a story, Ariadne. It's burning me, and I know what this is now."

"Are you going to become a monster?" she asked, her voice small and afraid. She was alone with him, his fingers were inside her thong and he had already been stronger than her physically. She had no idea what he was capable of now.

"I don't want to be." His other hand tightened on her rear, squeezing and kneading her flesh. "I want _you._ You'll make it better. I'll feel better with you. Please," he growled, a plaintive note to his voice. "It _burns,_ and your scent's driving me crazy."

Ariadne cautiously took his face between her hands and kissed him. His teeth didn't feel particularly sharp against her tongue, and his blunt fingers didn't feel like they were turning into claws as they slid inside her wet heat. Ariadne gasped and shifted to kneel on the bed beside him. Eames pushed his fingers farther inside of her, liking the sound of the mewl she made in response. She broke the kiss to breathe, then went to kiss his cheek and jaw and neck. He tore the thong along the seam as she sucked at his neck, abrading the skin lightly with her teeth. Now there was nothing to stop him from burying his fingers inside her, from running his thumb across her clit to make her jerk and gasp against him.

It was almost a surprise when she came, clenching down around his fingers. He withdrew them despite her protests and leaned back. Eyes locked to hers, Eames licked his fingers. "Lie down, please," he said, a pleading note in his voice. She did, helping him push her skirt up around her hips. He ran his hands over her silk-covered thighs, making her breath catch in anticipation. Though his erection was straining at the fabric of his boxers, he didn't make any move to take them off yet. Instead, he positioned himself between her spread legs and leaned down to press his mouth to the damp curls. He licked at her folds, probing them until he found her swollen clit. As he teased it mercilessly, he slid two fingers inside of her and started to pump them in and out. Ariadne whimpered and slid her hand into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp restlessly.

Eames kept going even after she came, even after she tugged at his hair hard enough to hurt. She writhed beneath his mouth, her other hand cupping and fondling a breast. There was the dim thought that Arthur would return at some point with antibiotics, and he would find them like this. Ariadne couldn't care about that.

She was a boneless mess when he finished with her, and only then did he slide off the boxers and push into her. She moaned, and reached out to touch his chest. Eames pumped hard and fast inside of her, growling deep in his throat. "Mine," he said one point, and all she could do was agree as she writhed beneath him.

His fever seemed to break when he collapsed on top of her. It had felt like forever, and there was an almost uncomfortable stretch in her thighs as she tried to hold them open to accommodate his frame. Eames carded his fingers through her hair. "Mine," he repeated, this time in a calmer voice.

"Yes," Ariadne agreed, stroking the broad expanse of his back slowly. She pressed her lips against his cheek. "We'll figure out where we're going with this."

She fixed her clothing as he showered. To anyone else, she merely looked rumpled and tired, and it might have been interpreted as sequelae from a concussion.

Though Arthur didn't seem to suspect anything when he returned with antibiotics, Ariadne still felt like a liar. Eames merely smiled in satisfaction, his eyes never leaving her.


End file.
